


By the hands of heroes

by IcyLady



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Joui War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyLady/pseuds/IcyLady
Summary: In which the Joui leaders find out that there was no end of sickening and horrifying enemies the universe could throw at them. How far will they go to save their self-proclaimed commander?





	By the hands of heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I'm reposting this from fanfiction net (you can find IcyLady there as well) to see how things go ;) There might be more Gintama stories coming!

They can’t know everything and they can’t foresee everything: that is what Gintoki likes to repeat in his head. They will know better next time and that is usually good enough, but sometimes not knowing is very scary, especially in that unsure, ever-changing world of theirs. Sometimes it’s cutting it too close for comfort and that was one of those times. Later on, Gintoki would say he has had a foreboding feeling, almost a premonition, but if he was honest with himself he knew that what made him look around the battlefield was gut feeling.

It was one of those fights where it looked like they were going to win relatively easy. There have been a few of them recently, since they have started trying out that new tactics and victories were bringing new recruits faster than people died, which must have been the first since they have joined the war. He wouldn’t know for sure, because in the beginning it was none of them who took care of the organization, but ever since Katsura took over the command, in a way, this was the first time they had more people with each battle, rather than less.

Their tactics was simple and really one of the basic things that even Gintoki knew but had been shockingly difficult to implement in their guerrilla warfare. As usual they would divide their forces roughly in four, so that each of them took the command of one division, but they allowed for a central organization during the battle. That organization, in practice largely consisting of knowing when to withdraw and when to regroup and push on, rested on Katsura’s shoulders, while Sakamoto, Takasugi and Gintoki hacked away at whatever appeared in front of them.

Well, Gintoki hacked away at whatever appeared in front of him. He knew that Takasugi took the command of his Kiheitai very seriously and while alone Gintoki was the most destructive, his unit definitely fell short of the Kiheitai. He supposed that Sakamoto was somewhere in between the two of them when it came to organization. He could see both their groups engaged in battle, very much like his. Roughly in the centre of the battlefield, there was Katsura, commanding something to people from his group.

Everything was as usual, Gintoki told himself.

That was when he saw them. It was just a movement at the edge of his vision, at an improbable altitude, but his gut instinct told him to not ignore it and so, feeling inexplicably afraid, Gintoki abandoned scanning the battle to turn slightly and look up. Two irregular shapes, dark against the sky coloured by the setting sun, were approaching fast. Shouts sounded around him as more of the combatants noticed the new arrival, now close enough to see they were humanoid, winged creatures, but Gintoki found himself preoccupied by another thing: their trajectory.

He glanced towards the centre of the battlefield, relieved to see that Katsura has also noticed the newcomers already. Their self-appointed commander was obviously ready to fight, katana in his hand, shouting out last minute commands, and so was his “personal guard”: a handful of fighters whose main task was to make sure Katsura had enough breathing space to supervise the battle and take decisions. They were good fighters, Gintoki told himself, they would take down two opponents, hell, Katsura could take two opponents down on his own! Then why was he so worried? Why did he want to run to his friend’s side? What was that fear growing in his chest?

There was no time to wonder. The winged amanto fell from the sky like bullets, one on Katsura’s right, one on his left, only in the last second pulling up just enough to turn a complete circle around the commander. It was more than obvious as to who exactly their target was. And, Gintoki realized with that nagging, growing fear: that was the end of Katsura’s personal guard. The men were wounded or dead and the ones who were able to fight were running away in panic. What the hell?

A real, foreboding feeling washed over Gintoki as his friend engaged the two creatures in battle.

It took him a moment to realize that, despite the lack of the personal guard, a large circle formed around Katsura and the two creatures, who seemed to be attacking only with their long, slightly curved claws. A wall roughly two rows thick separated the three from all the other joui forces. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t like it at all. In a battle like that there should be no time, no place for duels.

‘Regroup towards the centre,’ he yelled at the top of his lungs, deciding to trust his instincts. Those closest to him carried on the order, but Gintoki didn’t wait for everybody in the division to follow. That was something a good leader would do and he was no leader. He was the White Demon. And by the time the words were out of his mouth he was already running, hacking his way through the battlefield, eyes fixed on the centre.

The winged amanto were sort of dark greyish-green in colour, glistening the tiniest bit in the setting sun, as though their skin was scales of a snake or a lizard. Their wings resembled those of bats, or maybe dragons, but apart from that, they were surprisingly humanoid, with roughly proportional arms and legs, head and torso. They were also good fifty centimetres taller than Katsura, fast and intelligent enough to have a tactic in their attack. They stayed apart, so that one attack could not reach them both. Every time Katsura would swing his katana at one of them, it would jump away and the other would attempt to attack.

A screech echoed in the air, high and painful and much louder than the general sounds of the battle, when Katsura managed a serious blow at one of the attackers. Everybody paused and cowered.

Almost everybody, Gintoki thought grimly, jumping over two of his men. All his instincts screamed at him to hurry the hell up and he wasn’t going to question them. A cold feeling of dread was weighing him like he imagined a stone in his stomach would.

‘Takasugi, Sakamoto,’ he bellowed in the relative silence that followed the monster’s screech. He didn’t have the breath to waste for any more words.

In the centre, the amanto flew half a meter up and attacked together. Katsura parried the blow of one, but was not fast enough for the second. With surreal clarity, Gintoki saw three lines of red bloom on the back of Katsura’s khaki green clothes as his friend stumbled slightly.

With a feral yell, Gintoki slashed his katana right through a frog-headed amanto that was blocking his way. He didn’t even wait for the enemy to realize that it was dead, jump kicking it onto the amanto behind, trampling on them as he went. There was still too much distance between him and the wall of weirdly immobile amanto surrounding the duel in the centre. He shortened it by two enemies in two, rapid swings of his katana.

He stumbled when he realized that Katsura has been captured. When did that happen? How-

One of the winged amanto, holding Katsura, back to his chest, twisted Katsura’s wrist sharply and the katana fell to the ground. Gintoki imagined he could hear it cling as it landed. The other, the one with his arm rendered useless by Katsura mere moments earlier, came up in front of the captured, leaning to be face to face as he grabbed Katsura’s chin with the hand of his good arm. There was no way Katsura could save himself from that predicament, Gintoki knew.

He was moving before he realized, a scream echoing in his ears. It was a horrifying scream of protest and disbelief. It was his scream and it matched his moves, his katana swinging indiscriminately at everything that was between him and Katsura.

The amanto was saying something. Arriving at the wall of immobile enemies, Gintoki could see its mouth moving as it trailed one claw down Katsura’s cheek and neck, leaving a trail of blood. Katsura didn’t even twitch, wide eyes fixed on the enemy who had captured him and Gintoki felt sick. Numbly, he realized that the amanto forming the circle were not cheering. They should be going crazy at seeing the enemy’s leader captured, yet they stood still, watching with wide eyes.

Fear. Gintoki could smell it, he could feel it hanging heavy in the air. He could taste it on his tongue.

His moves faltered for a mere split of second as the fear hit him. He silenced it with a demented yell, bursting through the wall of enemies, katana held high and ready to swing. From the other side, screaming just like him, Takasugi burst forth.

The winged amanto turned their head sharply at the new threat, discarding their previous prize with a swift move. For a split of a second, Gintoki was staring one straight in the eyes. The slit pupils burned into him. The feeling of fear that hit him then was paralysing and he knew that the only thing that kept him on his course was his momentum. He swung his katana down only because it was so ingrained into him it required no thought, no conscious action from him. No, it was more that no conscious thought could stop him at that point. He was the White Demon.

The blade sang in the air. It hit the enemy’s skull, cut through it and then through the rest of the amanto as Gintoki’s weight did most of the job of pushing it down.

He landed atop the corpse and looked around wildly, his thoughts whirling. Not far, Takasugi was kneeling, arms still holding the katana in the post attack position, the corpse of the second winged amanto crumbled in front of him, in two pieces. Sakamoto was there as well, holding Katsura, who was paper white and not moving, eyes wide open and staring ahead, unseeing. Their men were breaking through the wall of amanto who were slowly waking up from their fear-filled stupor.

Gintoki breathed heavily for a moment, the fear fading. They were all alright. He had to repeat it in his head a couple of times before he could relax enough to move. Judging by Takasugi’s slow moves, the other was in the same state and, when their eyes met, he saw the reflection of the same fear he has felt. What the hell were those creatures?

‘Guys, I think we should retreat,’ he heard and turned to Sakamoto. Their fourth companion was literally shaking, probably from the fear he must have also experienced. He was still holding Katsura, who still hasn’t moved. In fact, he seemed to barely be breathing. ‘Let’s get the most of them on the way back to a safe place,’ Sakamoto added in a trembling voice. Gintoki nodded, although he didn’t know whether Sakamoto mean killing the most enemies or picking up the most of the wounded personal guard. With the corner of his eye, he saw Takasugi nod as well.

‘I’ll open the passage,’ said the White Demon. Nobody questioned him. Takasugi was already shouting orders and his voice carried but the slightest hint of a tremble.

 

})i({

 

It was late at night by the time they could finally rest. The retreat, setting up a camp in an abandoned temple and tending to the wounded has taken time, but most importantly it took the fear out of Sakamoto Tatsuma’s heart. He had still been shaking when they found the temple, but now he was finally free of even the remnants of that horrible, unnatural feeling. Of course now that they could rest, the thoughts and memories were coming back as well.

‘What the hell was that?’ Takasugi asked the question Sakemoto was sure was on all of their minds. ‘Is there no end to the repulsive things the universe harbours? Was that even one of those stinking amanto?’

It was a good question. Well, Sakamoto thought, it was probably a stupid question, because what else could it have been? But they have never seen an amanto even resembling something like that: distinctly humanoid, yet covered in sleek scales, gleaming in the sunlight. The creatures were also winged and amanto could not fly, right? If they could, if there were more races with wings, they would suddenly have to drastically modify their tactics! Even not counting the amazing speed and reflexes of the creatures, an attack from above has proven devastatingly successful: only three of Katsura’s “personal guard” showed promise of survival. Two others died during the retreat and all the others were dead by the time Sakamoto’s people got to them.

Well, some of them did escape, Sakamoto amended his thoughts. On his way to the centre he has clashed with one of them and the man came back to his senses, but the look in his eyes, when they met, was pure panic. It was what Sakamoto felt afterwards, when he charged on, broke through the wall of immobile enemy and caught the utterly unresponsive Katsura before the other could hit the ground after being obviously discarded. That terror he felt was in Katsura’s eyes as well, only it didn’t fade with the destruction of the enemy.

He has never seen the other like that, Sakamoto thought sadly, glancing down at Katsura. At some point during the retreat, the long-haired samurai lost consciousness and developed a fever instead. So did the others wounded by the winged creatures, he remembered. But they had nothing to fight the fever and sure as hell it wasn’t an infection. Sakamoto has never cleaned wounds so thoroughly and anyway, it was too early for any infection to kick in. He didn’t even want to consider the possibility of poison, but unfortunately it seemed likely.

‘Did you see what they did to the other amanto?’ Takasugi continued his rant. He even got up and started pacing the small room in which they were to spend the remainder of the night. Yeah, Sakamoto thought, whatever the creatures were they terrified everybody, not just their enemies. ‘That stinking, disgusting fear,’ the commander of Kiheitai spat out the last word like an insult.

‘Did you look in that thing’s eyes?’ Gintoki asked suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and tense. Sakamoto looked at his friend, sitting by the window and looking out at the moonlit forest and the sentry posts, disguised to the best of their abilities. Then he glanced at Takasugi, who was wincing awfully. ‘It had some sort of fearful aura, I’ll give you that. But those eyes-’ Gintoki paused and swallowed thickly. ‘It was only a split of a second, I’m sure, yet it felt-’

‘Terrifying,’ Takasugi finished for him quietly. ‘I’ve never felt a fear like that. Not even when-’ he paused, but Sakamoto knew what he wanted to say. His friends have told him why they had joined the war. ‘I don’t ever want to feel it again,’ Takasugi whispered after a moment. Silence fell between them afterwards and Sakamoto could hear the men outside the room: preparing food and playing cards. Most of them have not felt that fear and it was good. He had a feeling that nothing they could say, nothing Katsura could say, would motivate them to stay otherwise.

Not that Katsura was going to deliver his usual speech this time, he thought, pressing his lips in a tight line as he glanced back at the long-haired samurai. In the disorientation of the retreat, not many realized that it wasn’t the usual person commanding and not many paid attention, but in the camp it was impossible to hide some facts. And a wounded commander rarely encouraged the troops, which was partly why they didn’t leave Katsura in the makeshift hospital. That and Takasugi and Gintoki have violently protested against being separated with the friend they have come so close to losing.

Sakamoto smiled softly at the memory.

‘Right then,’ Gintoki jumped to his feet, startling them both. ‘What are we gonna do about that new crap?’ he asked energetically. Sakamoto could swear he was about to start jumping on the spot from the overflowing energy, but he suspected it was just a front. Then again, he could keep up his front as well, couldn’t he? He laughed loudly.

‘Kintoki, if you need to take a crap please do so outside the temple,’ he advised. ‘Regardless of insulting a deity or another, think about the smell,’ he added for a good measure, not in the least bothered by the dark glare he received. After all, if he deliberately mispronounced the other’s name it wasn’t for nothing, was it?

‘I’ll beat the crap out of you,’ Gintoki threatened. Sakamoto laughed some more and pointed out that the result, as in the smell, and he did say it explicitly, would be the same. So Kintoki should reconsider. That finally got a snort out of Takasugi. A little of the tension vanished from the air. It wouldn’t be perfect, not until the wig-head woke up, but it was good already.

‘I have a better target for you, White Demon,’ Takasugi commented after a brief pause. His tone and the fact that he used Gintoki’s “nickname” told Sakamoto that he was serious. ‘You wanna beat the crap out of something?’ he asked, making Sakamoto protest that he wasn’t a thing. Nobody listened to him. Takasugi was focused on Gintoki and Gintoki looked at Takasugi intently. ‘We gotta get some info about those monsters on wings. How about doing some amanto-hunting?’

The gleam in Gintoki’s eyes was nothing pleasant. It was excited and it promised pain and Sakamoto didn’t like it in the least, but he knew that this gleam and the feelings that went with it were the difference between him and Gintoki. That was why he, Sakamoto Tatsuma, would never be hailed a Demon or revered like Gintoki, like a twisted god of war of some kind. He would never be feared, not by their comrades at least.

Takasugi cracked his knuckles. He too was ready to maim and kill. He had the same gleam in his eyes and Sakamoto knew that part of it was anger. They were both angry at how affected they have been by the creatures. They were angry at how many men the creatures killed in a matter of seconds. Above all, they were angry at what the creatures have done to their friend. And that was why Sakamoto wasn’t going to stop them, in the long run.

Then it occurred to him what exactly they were planning to do and he paled. They couldn’t be thinking to- Oh, but they were, weren’t they? Could he talk them out of it? Should he? No: would he even try to talk them out of it when Katsura’s life could very well be on the line? He knew the answer to the last question, but the last thing he wanted was for them to leave then and there, too angry to act reasonably.

‘Rest tonight,’ he spoke up when Takasugi reached down for his katana. ‘You are tired and angry, you will make stupid mistakes. The scouts will come back by dawn and you will know where to look for the amanto. If you go now, you’ll be simply wasting time. If you rest, you have better chances also,’ he quickly listed his arguments in the most reasonable, calm tone he could muster. Because as much as he didn’t want to lose a friend he knew that Katsura would never forgive himself if something happened to the other two on his behalf.

‘What if it is poison?’ Gintoki pointed out, waving his hand in the direction where Katsura was laying on the futon, carefully wrapped in two covers. His skin was still paper white, whiter than the wet cloth they have put on his forehead in hopes of fighting the fever. The cut on his cheek and neck stood out against it starkly. His breathing was shallow, but regular. His wounds, however, didn’t justify him being out for so long and it scared Sakamoto more than anything else.

‘It will not help him if you two are too exhausted and get injured or killed,’ he whispered. If it was poison, nothing would, he thought but didn’t say out loud. He was sure they thought it as well, because Gintoki and Takasugi exchanged glances, winced and both flopped onto the floor where they have been standing.

‘You’re just afraid to be responsible for the camp,’ Takasugi accused him. It wasn’t fully untrue, but Sakamoto laughed it off, because of the fake pouty expression he said it with. He? Afraid of responsibility? Responsibility was his middle name, unlike for some good-for-nothing kids!

‘Responsibility, my ass,’ Gintoki muttered grumpily. Sakamoto had a witty reply to that as well, but they were interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door.

It was food and it was enough for four, which was a nice thought. The young soldier who brought it didn’t say much and glanced fearfully towards Katsura. And before he could ask, Sakamoto cheerfully assured him that everything was alright and that he should go back to the others and rest while he could. But his fake smile faded the moment the door closed behind the soldier and when they did eat, sometime afterwards, it was in a heavy kind of silence.

 

})i({

 

The trail was fresh and indicated only two duck-footed amanto up ahead. It seemed they were lucky, Takasugi Shinsuke thought grimly. Not only did they find a patrol of guards so fast, admittedly thanks to the scout reports, but also it was one of the few kinds of amanto that didn’t wear shoes. It made it easy to recognize to enemy and prepare ahead. Plus, those particular amanto were relatively small, which meant they should be able to haul them back to the camp and interrogate them at leisure. He shivered as that thought crossed his head.

He would lie if he said that he wasn’t sickened by what they were planning to do, but there was no other way. The fever of the men wounded by the winged amanto didn’t decrease in the least overnight. When they woke up briefly, they were extremely weak, more so than their wounds would justify. And Takasugi at least refused to watch as Katsura succumbed to whatever poison there has been on the claws.

He slipped back into the bushes and showed two fingers to Sakata, who nodded. Then he drew a small, duck-foot imprint and got a second nod, along with a grim but satisfied half-smile. He nodded in agreement and then tapped his wrist before saying “less than twenty minutes” in their sign language code. Sakata nodded for the third time and motioned for Takasugi to follow him. Only because they had no time to waste did he not protest and followed instead, as quietly as he could.

They did a quick job of catching up with the amanto, knocking them out and dragging them to the abandoned temple, where Sakamoto has already prepared an interrogation room. It was in the part of the complex the furthest from where their soldiers were camping and had only one entrance. Although it was impossible to hide what they were doing, they have decided that keeping the interrogation as private as possible was the best option. They have also agreed that Sakamoto would be guarding the entrance to stop anybody who might want to add their five cents to the “discussion”. They didn’t need the amanto dying before they got the information.

They didn’t need the soldiers seeing their leaders torture the captives either, Sakamoto has pointed out sternly and it was clear what he thought of their plan. Privately, Takasugi wasn’t sure anybody would mind but it was true that things could get bloody and the people were afraid of the White Demon as it was.

As agreed, Sakamoto was waiting for them to the side of the complex and together they transported the unconscious amanto to the designated room without passing by the main camp. Even so, Takasugi could feel the burning gazes of the sentries. He couldn’t be bothered to know their names, but he was sure they have lost some close comrades, everybody had. Perhaps even in that battle from the previous day, perhaps to the “winged nightmares”.

That was what the people have started calling the new amanto, after each and every wounded has woken up screaming the previous night. The first one has terrified the whole camp, but once they understood it was just the matter of somebody keeping watch and muffling the screams until the wounded was awake and conscious of his surroundings. Still, it was far from a restful night and even Takasugi has had nightmares. He didn’t tell anybody, which was the privilege of having woken up quietly. Sakata didn’t say anything either, but Takasugi was sure he has heard him wake up. He wasn’t sure if Sakamoto has gone to sleep at all.

The worst was, of course Katsura: the one who has stared into those slit eyes for gods knew how long. He ended up shivering like a leaf, clinging to Gintoki, who had been the closest one and thus had earned the privilege to insure Katsura’s blood-curdling screaming didn’t wake up the devils in hell. Or alerted the amanto to their position. But at least it seemed that it was a one-off problem and the nightmares faded away.

The fever didn’t, Takasugi thought again grimly. All of the men wounded by the “winged nightmares” were feverish, weak and barely able to stay awake. They didn’t want to eat and, if forced, vomited. Their wounds, as far as anybody could tell in such a short amount of time, were healing normally, but the more time passed the more it was obvious that something was wrong. And there was only one way that situation could evolve.

Takasugi took a deep breath and cleared his head. Just thinking about the probable finale of that fight filled him with so much anger he felt like he could burn the whole world to ashes. How dare those damned amanto take the life of his best friend?! But the anger was good. It distracted him from the nauseating though of what they were about to do. So he focused his anger and when Sakata, doing his best impression of the demented White Demon, splashed water on one of the two captives, Takasugi made sure to scorch the creature with his most withering glare.

The duck-footed amanto were roughly the height of a short human being, shorter even than Takasugi, as Sakata has not missed to point out a couple of times already. They were humanoid with rather corpulent bodies, but were not heavy at all and were deadly fast. They had a crown of feathers rather than hair, and aggressive, bird-like features, as well as feathers growing from their arms, which they always kept naked. When they moved in battle, the feathers whistled in the air, scaring and disorienting an unprepared enemy.

Tied to two, thick poles, they were as ridiculous as any other of the damned amanto invaders. Faced with the White Demon and another, furious Joui, the one that was awake didn’t even try to hide its fear, but it brought Takasugi little satisfaction.

‘Tell us about the flying amanto,’ he hissed, getting straight to the point. Neither he nor Sakata had the patience to spare. The captive blinked, then its eyes widened briefly and Takasugi didn’t miss the fear that flashed in them. However, what it said wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.

‘Your general will die,’ it screeched gleefully and then laughed. It sounded obscene, even though Takasugi could barely hear it. He saw red. He moved before he could think, drawing his katana and burying it into the pole behind the amanto, so close to its face that it cut its cheek.

‘Tell us about the flying amanto,’ he repeated in a low, threatening hiss. The captive spat in his face and Takasugi would have killed it then and there if a heavy hand didn’t land on his shoulder.

‘Let’s put it differently,’ said Sakata in a hoarse voice. Takasugi pulled out his katana, “accidentally” deepening the cut on the amanto’s cheek, satisfied when it hissed in pain. He stepped away and, wiping the spit off his face, glanced at his comrade, almost shivering at the dark expression Sakata wore. None of them particularly enjoyed Sakata wearing the White Demon mask. ‘You will die, we all know that. The question is: how will you die? We can kill you fast, if you answer our questions. We can take days if you don’t. We’re patient,’ Sakata assured the amanto with an awful smile.

‘Your general doesn’t have days to wait,’ the amanto laughed gleefully. A cold shudder ran down Takasugi’s spine as the implication of its words sunk in. So there was a poison, a deadly one.

‘Wrong answer,’ Sakata growled, furious. Faster than Takasugi could see in his distracted state, he grabbed and handful of feathers on the amanto’s forearm and pulled strongly, ripping them out. Blood splattered, unpleasantly greenish in shade. The amanto howled in pain. Just when it was calming down, breathing heavily, because he couldn’t be worse than the White Demon, Takasugi tore out two more feathers from the amanto’s other arm, making it howl in pain again. It felt better than it should, despite the rising nausea.

‘Alright, I will tell you about the flying nightmares,’ the amanto gasped. Takasugi stifled a sigh of relief: it would do no good to show the damned invader he didn’t want to torture it. ‘Those things are the most hated and feared species in the whole universe. Everybody who looks into their eyes is paralyzed with fear. Everybody who is around just wants to get away. There is no reason you, filthy humans, should be spared the fear,’ it growled. It was still breathing heavily and its arms were bleeding, but it seemed to have gathered itself and spoke with audible satisfaction.

What attacked Katsura was the only kind of truly flying amanto. They lived on a planet circling around some kind of dead star and they were at the absolute top of the food chain: nothing could or wanted to hunt them on their home planet. Nothing in the universe could, because they terrified everybody. They never allied with any other race but rather sold their services for astronomical sums and always with a clause that they had the right to attack anybody and anything they wanted. They were fast and cruel, always fulfilling their missions, although they would only come out and attack at dusk, unused to the light of the nearby star but unwilling to roam at night. And as academically fascinating as it was, Takasugi was not in the least interested.

He pulled a feather from the amanto’s arm and ordered it, shouting over its pain-filled howl, to get to the point, to not waste their time. They wanted to hear about the poison on their claws, not the story of the race. The amanto laughed, once it could breathe normally.

‘There is no need to hurry: there exists no natural antidote to the poison on their claws. That is why they’re so terrifying. There is nothing we could give you, nothing you could steal that will save the life of your general,’ it crooned. Fury and helplessness boiled in Takasugi at those words. ‘Rejoice though. I don’t think any army can or is willing to afford more than a few of them. You killed two. There might be two or four more waiting for you, no more.’

Takasugi clenched his fists. There had to be something, anything. Perhaps they have simply not been convincing enough. They haven’t yet reached the level of pain that would give them information. Yes, it must have been that, he thought but before he could act, the amanto spoke again and its words froze Takasugi in speechless horror.

‘But you should not be too hard on yourself. I have never heard of anybody defeating the nightmares and you did save your general from a rather gruesome death. Do you know why those creatures poison their victims rather than just killing them immediately? They eat flesh, but not just any flesh. They can only eat what is still alive. And so they weaken their victims and feast for a day or two. Surely, withering away in your makeshift hospital is a better fate,’ the amanto mocked.

Too much, it was too much, Takasugi thought. He went as far as clamping a hand over his mouth, afraid that he was going to puke at the gruesome images his head was dutifully providing. Was that what the amanto has said to Katsura back then? He has seen it speak the previous day. Just imagining being in that situation, staring into those eyes and hearing something like that, was making him dizzy. And sick. He gagged.

Somewhere that sounded very far away, the duck-footed amanto laughed out loud.

‘Nobody is stupid enough to hire something that can kill them like that, no safety present,’ Sakata growled in a dangerous, low tone. Still barely controlling his desire to throw up, Takasugi looked at him, immediately noticing that he looked as nauseous as Takasugi felt. But also, he appeared to be furious beyond anything Takasugi has ever seen. The amanto fell silent, only glaring at them hatefully. ‘You’ve had your fun at our expense. Now spit it out or I will feast on your intestines. While you watch me. I will feed you your intestines,’ he threatened. Even Takasugi shivered and he knew Sakata would do no such thing.

‘That means nothing to me,’ the amanto replied, but it didn’t sound so sure anymore. Encouraged, Sakata shouted for Sakamoto to bring a pot with some water. He told Takasugi to chop up some wood for a fire, while he cut off and prepared a leg so that they could cook a soup. The amanto howled in protest. It occurred to Takasugi: didn’t they say that the greatest sacrilege for some races was to eat their own? That some amanto would rather kill themselves than commit cannibalism?

He swallowed down his nausea somewhat. It would be just a little performance, he told himself, before licking his lips nervously and nodding. He just hoped the amanto would break soon, ideally before he vomited. It sure howled like a demented ghost while Takasugi started chopping up a low table that was there. Sakata made a show of looking for something to start the fire with, loudly commenting on how it was convenient that this room had dirt floor, rather than tatami.

They were done building up the fire before the door opened. Gods, please make the amanto give in soon, Takasugi prayed. And when it stopped howling, he looked up with hope, but the amanto was only staring at the doorway with horror. Gods, what-

‘Took you long- Zura!’

All of Takasugi’s thoughts vanished as he heard Sakata’s shocked exclamation. So quickly that he almost gave himself a whiplash, he turned around to see that indeed, Katsura was standing in the doorway, looking horrified. Sakamoto was just behind him. It looked like he hasn’t listened to Sakata’s request, crossed Takasugi’s mind. For a split of a second, he hoped it was over, but then he noticed that Katsura was still paper white, the cut on his face and neck standing out against the sweaty skin. Then he noticed that Katsura was leaning against the loudest of their quartet, who seemed a little green on his face himself.

‘How is this possible?’ the amanto growled furiously. Something told Takasugi to look at it and so he did, right on time to see it frown, glance outside through the window and curse nastily. He frowned himself: what was outside? What could it see other than the stretch of grass and small bushes, flooded with sunlight? As the amanto turned back to glare at Katsura, Takasugi wondered if it was disappointment he noticed in its gaze, right next to the anger.

‘What are you doing here?’ Sakata asked. Takasugi turned back to Katsura and Sakamoto. They have closed the door now. Sakamoto steadied Katsura when the latter stumbled a bit, taking a step closer to them. ‘You should be resting! How did you even manage to get here?’

‘Sakamoto carried me,’ Katsura admitted easily with a pale smile. ‘But I already feel better, so please, that’s more than enough,’ he whispered. Takasugi didn’t need explanation as to what he meant. He looked again at the amanto, who was now absolutely furious. There was something wrong in that picture. If Katsura was going to die anyway then why seeing him would annoy the amanto? Unless there was something outside that had a meaning, something that - dared he hope? - was the antidote.

Takasugi glanced outside again. He saw through the window with a different angle than the amanto, but he knew there was nothing other than peaceful, sun-lit scenery. Besides, their captive has said it was nothing they could get or steal. It said nothing natural, right? Then surely it couldn’t be outside. Unless it was something unnatural on the planet of the winged nightmares, but here-

The amanto saw him looking and its hateful glare intensified. Of course, if they accidentally applied the cure it was one thing, but if they figured it out and spread the information it would be the end of the winged nightmares. He only just needed to find what it was now. Takasugi glanced back at his friends in the doorway when he heard Katsura saying that they couldn’t have thought he would have stood for such actions. He winced at the expression on his friend’s face.

‘You cannot think we’re going to watch you die,’ Sakata countered immediately and an anguished expression flitted across Katsura’s face. Was it only Takasugi’s hope that he thought his friend did look a bit better? After all, a couple of hours ago he couldn’t lift his hand and he was standing now, leaning heavily against Sakamoto, but standing nonetheless. Did something happen why they were away or was it something when Sakamoto carried him from the other room to here? The amanto has looked outside again, wincing, but that wasn’t the direction from which Sakamoto and Katsura have come. In fact, the only common factor-

‘What if it’s the sun?’ he asked suddenly. They all looked at him, confused. ‘The antidote, the cure. Whatever. There’s no sun on their planet, what if the sun is the antidote? It’s nothing we can steal, nothing anybody can give as. It’s not naturally on their planet,’ he realized that he was babbling but he was afraid to stop and realize how stupid that sounded. It sounded stupid, didn’t it?

‘You did say you feel better and quite frankly, I didn’t think you’d be able to keep yourself upright for so long,’ Sakamoto pointed out slowly. Katsura looked at them all in turns, then stopped his gaze at the amanto. Takasugi and the others followed it to see the creature glare at them furiously. Seeing them look at it, it spat on the floor and wished them a painful death next time they encounter the amanto army.

‘Let us give it a test. I don’t mind sitting out in the sun for a bit,’ Katsura said finally. He looked at Takasugi and Sakata with an unreadable expression. ‘Kill them quickly,’ he added and it was not really a request. Sakata muttered something about people forgetting their places, but he didn’t sound any angrier than Takasugi felt. He could bet that his rival was thinking exactly the same as he was: if he’s alright, that damned wig-head can order me around as much as he wants. But only for today, he amended.

 

})i({

 

It was another beautiful day, with sun shining brightly from the blue, cloudless sky since the very morning. A superstitious person would say it was a sign from gods, a message that they were on their side. And although Katsura Kotarou was not a particularly superstitious person, he did offer his thanks to the heavens, because he was feeling that the unnatural weakness from the amanto poison was leaving him slowly. Sitting on the ground in a large, internal courtyard of the temple complex, propped against a large stone, he relished in the calmness, in the sounds of life he could pretend was normal.

It felt weird to be sitting out in the open, in the middle of the day and for a second, consecutive day nonetheless. They were rebels after all and he has already lost count for how long they have been hiding in between the battles, avoiding open spaces and sun-lit days. He wasn’t going to complain about it, however, neither the hiding nor the pleasant time out in the sun. Katsura was not known to complain in any circumstances and this time he was more than willing to enjoy the sun and contemplate his incredible luck.

He tried to not think too much about what has happened during their last battle: about that unexpected, efficient attack, the intense duel that he had known was lost from the beginning and- and what was after. Thankfully, the others have seen most of what has happened and have talked it through before he woke up and thus he didn’t need to tell them anything. Gintoki and Takasugi filled him in on the powers and habits of the amanto and he admitted that for some reason he has avoided looking into their eyes while they fought. They had their theory on what the amanto has told him and Katsura let them believe it, because he was never, ever going to utter the words he has heard. It was bad enough to hear snippets in his nightmares, spoken in that raspy voice, with the heavy accent that butchered the words almost beyond recognition.

And he tried very hard to not think about what would have happened to him if his friends haven’t come to his rescue.

He tried to not think about what Gintoki and Takasugi have done for him: attempting to torture answers out of that other amanto. He couldn’t condemn them, because he understood how they have felt. If it had been one of them, or Sakamoto, poisoned, if Katsura was the one to watch them die slowly- He didn’t want to consider his hypothetical actions in such a situation.

He tried to not think about death either, but instead thanked gods and his luck. It could have been different if Sakamoto had obeyed Gintoki till the end. If Sakamoto, too horrified by what Gintoki and Takasugi were attempting, hadn’t gone to wake Katsura up, to beg him to stop the others. Not that he needed to actually beg: it was enough for Katsura to hear what was going on to want to stop it. Honestly, if he thought about it for a while longer there was no chance this part could have played out differently, although Sakamoto did take his time to crack is the blood splatters in that room were any indication.

However, if it had been cloudy the previous day, he might have been dead by now.

Katsura shivered despite the warmth of the sun. It was difficult to separate the thinking about how incredibly lucky he was and about how horrifyingly close he has come to dying such a stupid death. He really shouldn’t be relying on luck to survive, especially since he might have used up his dose for the rest of the year this time.

‘Oi, Zura,’ he heard a familiar voice shout somewhere to the left and an equally familiar feeling of annoyance made itself known. Was it truly so difficult to remember his name? Katsura closed his eyes for a moment and counted to ten. By the time he opened them, his three closest friends have reached him and he glared at the offender.

‘It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,’ he said in the most level tone he could muster. Gintoki didn’t appear to have heard him, not that Katsura expected anything else. He crossed his arms. ‘If the soldiers start to call me that because of your stupidity, I will never forgive you,’ he informed the white-haired good-for-nothing brat. That didn’t seem to have much effect either: only Sakamoto snorted.

‘These days, the soldiers are way too intimidated to call you anything other than “general” or “commander” or at the very least Katsura-san,’ he pointed out. Appealed, Katsura protested that he didn’t want the soldiers to be intimidated: what has he ever done to intimidate anybody?

‘Let’s see: how about fighting two absolutely terrifying, winged amanto on your own?’ Takasugi commented lightly as all three settled in a loose circle next to where Katsura was sitting. Unpacking what appeared to be bento, Sakamoto cheerfully informed Katsura that his own, personal guard, or what was left of it, was spreading stories about how utterly terrifying the winged nightmares were, how swift and deadly - and how their commander has stood up to them when everybody else cowered in fear.

‘But it wasn’t me who killed them,’ Katsura protested. Apparently it didn’t matter.

‘In any case, we brought lunch, oh esteemed leader of ours,’ Gintoki changed the subject, very obviously not wanting to further discuss the previous one. He did so while opening one of the boxes and giving it to Katsura, who accepted it with some hesitation. Dared he try eating again? In the morning he barely managed to stomach a couple of sips of the miso soup Sakamoto has prepared.

There were onigiri inside the box and he was sure he could detect a faint smell of pickled plum coming from them: his favourite. Katsura’s stomach growled, signalling that it should be alright to eat, or so longing to be filled that it didn’t care if Katsura was going to throw everything up afterwards. Embarrassed, he wrapped a hand around his stomach and glanced at the others to see if they heard it. They had. They were pretending to be busy opening their own bento, but they didn’t even try to hide their delighted expressions. Katsura blushed.

‘Enjoy your meals,’ he muttered and got three, enthusiastic replies. Then, pretending to not notice the glances they kept giving him, failing to hide their worry, he nibbled on one of the onigiri. They outright watched him chew and swallow the rice and they probably would have continued to watch him if he didn’t repeat, in a firmer tone: ‘Enjoy your meals.’

‘The guys from your personal guard are doing well, regaining their strength,’ Sakamoto mentioned lightly, picking up a large piece of chicken from his bento. The smell of meat wafted to Katsura and he had to forcibly swallow down the nausea. How could Sakamoto eat meat after hearing about those aliens? ‘Their injuries are more serious, so it’ll take time, but everything seems to be healing perfectly fine,’ Sakamoto added and then popped the piece of meat into his mouth. And Katsura answered his own question: his friend was already only thinking about the future, not about the story of monsters eating meat of their living victims. That was a lesson they should all learn from him.

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he replied. Of course there was a question of their mental health, but for the moment Katsura couldn’t really go and check up on them. Or rather, he could, except if he strayed into a shadow for even a moment, there was somebody breathing down his neck, pestering him about going back to sit in the sun. It was incredible that he hasn’t gotten sunburn or sunstroke yet.

‘Eat,’ Takasugi ordered and Katsura took a bite of his onigiri automatically. He thought he heard Gintoki mutter something along the lines of how “it was surprisingly easy”, but he decided to ignore it for the moment. ‘You gotta eat at least one of them and anyway, you’re getting them later. Don’t think that anybody else is going to eat that plum sh- thing,’ he added and took a large bite of his own onigiri: tuna mayo, Katsura was willing to bet.

‘It’s not good?’ Sakamoto asked. He looked worried and Katsura wanted to smack him over the head with the onigiri, but it would be a waste. Plus, he understood their worry. If it had been anybody else, Katsura would have been beside himself with worry and the poor victim would probably be subjected to much worse scrutiny than what he was receiving.

‘It’s good,’ he reassured Sakamoto and, to prove it true, took another bite. There was a moment of silence while he chewed the rice more thoroughly than he normally would, as the others busied themselves with their food. ‘Where did you get all that from anyway?’ he asked as it occurred to him that it has been a long time since they have eaten different dishes and their favourites nonetheless.

‘Sakamoto has raided the nearby village last night,’ Gintoki replied promptly, even though the question hasn’t been directed at him. The only one to not relish in the meal and taste it slowly, he has almost finished his red bean rice. Katsura raised an eyebrow in question.

‘I didn’t raid anything! Who do you think I am? I went and negotiated some supplies that we happened to desperately need,’ Sakamoto protested, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. Like pickled plum, Katsura thought, truly essential. He smiled softly.

‘What I said: raided,’ Gintoki repeated flatly.

‘Give it a rest, we all know how you negotiate,’ Takasugi advised Sakamoto, when the latter looked at him for support. ‘I mean, don’t get it wrong, you save our lives, but I hope you did give them something meaningful in return this time,’ he added. And Sakamoto assured them, outraged, that of course he has left something meaningful in return, but didn’t elaborate any further and a comfortable kind of silence fell as they ate.

The day was still beautiful and many of the soldiers decided to profit from the temporary suspension of the strict rules to never go out unless necessary. They were sitting in groups around the temple complex, although none of them on that particular courtyard, either by respect or because they were intimidated. Nevertheless, Katsura could hear conversations, too quiet to understand what they were saying but loud enough to note the happy tone. Perhaps they should do those things more often, he thought.

Not too often though, he knew. Sitting out like that was an incredible risk, even if they had sentries stationed at large enough distances from the temple. Forget the amanto army scouts, those they could foresee to a certain degree, but there were also spies and informants. Those could be anywhere and more often than not, they were human, which made them more difficult to pick out.

‘We need to move soon,’ Katsura said, breaking the silence. No matter what business Sakamoto did and how happy or not the villagers were, there could always be one who would sell out the rebel army to the amanto. It happened often enough, sadly, even when they were dealing with villages that supposedly supported the rebellion. Plus, there could have been spies in the village and a large transaction of food and medical supplies was bound to be noticed.

‘Unfortunately, we can’t risk the amanto getting a whiff of our presence here, this place is not convenient to defend,’ Sakamoto agreed. Katsura nodded, glancing around the sparse buildings. Even more than troublesome to defend, the buildings were made of wood: the amanto would only need to put them on fire and watch. ‘I have already had people start packing so that we can leave any moment, but it would be good to give the wounded a little more time to recover,’ he added. Katsura heard what Sakamoto did not say: we want to give you as much time as possible to recover.

‘Let’s risk one more night. Double the sentries and keep everything ready to in case we need to run. If everything goes fine, we’ll sneak out at dawn,’ he said, belatedly realizing that it sounded like he was giving orders. He wanted to apologize, because the three sitting with him were friends and not subordinates, but before he could speak, they have already expressed their agreement.

It was scary how easily they accepted his command. He had never meant to become a general or anything of the kind, but somebody needed to organize the men and take decisions. Katsura started doing that even in their previous unit, before Sakamoto has joined them, when their commander clearly couldn’t deal with the pressure. Before he even noticed, the commander was no more and the scouts came to him to report. And although it was Gintoki, and Takasugi, who commanded more awe and reverence, the soldiers looked to Katsura to take decisions. Sakamoto’s arrival changed nothing in the situation and by then it was anyway too late to back out.

‘And when we fight next time, you do what you want, Zura, but we’re not leaving you alone anymore,’ Gintoki stated suddenly. Katsura blinked at him, surprised.

‘Whether the amanto have identified you as the commander, and mind you that captive of ours did call you our “general”, or it was a random choice, there’s half a chance those things will want to finish what they have started,’ Takasugi explained as soon as Gintoki’s words were out of his mouth. It was almost as though they had practiced it before.

‘Don’t even try to protest,’ Sakamoto added seriously. Katsura smiled slightly. They have planned it before, he was sure. And they apparently expected resistance, but they would be disappointed. Because Katsura knew his limits and he knew his responsibilities even more. He couldn’t let himself be taken out so easily, not when so many looked up to him to lead them.

‘First: it’s not Zura, it’s Katsura. And I wasn’t going to,’ he said quietly. ‘I have no desire to find myself one on one, or one on two in any case, with those things ever again,’ he informed them, unable to suppress a shudder as memories of the last fight flashed in front of his eyes. He chased them away and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking about it the whole day yesterday and I believe we can divide into pairs: one for power and one for tactics in each. We should be able to coordinate our moves anyway and if not we could act as- What’s with those stupid expressions?’ he asked when he noticed them smiling.

‘Nothing, nothing, we forgot you’ve been bored for a while now,’ Takasugi mocked him lightly, while Sakamoto urged him to continue, but he sounded far too happy about it. As for Gintoki, the feared White Demon was the laziest person Katsura knew, and he was already lying down on the unkempt grass, ready to take a nap. Katsura kicked him.

‘Oi, what’s that for,’ he protested. ‘You’re doing all the thinking anyway, no? You only need me to hack away the problems, no? Then let me sleep.’

‘Let the idiot sleep,’ Takasugi grumbled. However, when Katsura looked at him in surprise, he saw the other smirking devilishly. He didn’t need to ask to know that he was planning something and it worried him.

‘Who’s the idiot?’ Gintoki asked sharply, literally jumping up, drawing his katana. It was all the invitation Takasugi needed to follow his lead, making Sakamoto laugh out loud.

Tuning out the escalating argument, Katsura leaned back against the stone and closed his eyes. How very nostalgic, he thought. The sun was shining on his face pleasantly. Sakamoto was egging Gintoki and Takasugi on, even though everybody knew he would be the one to stop them when things got serious. In his head, Katsura could imagine that the temple complex around them wasn’t ruined. For a while, he could pretend that they were younger and careless, that any moment now their teacher would emerge from one of the buildings and scold them for skipping classes.


End file.
